


Golden

by Sherlyjohn



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: The Animated Series, Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Bad Parent Sarek (Star Trek), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt Spock (Star Trek), Hurt/Comfort, It can be rough on him, Kirk and Spock hurt/comfort, Kirk is a good husband, M/M, Married Spirk, Slight Panic Attack, Space Husbands, Spock Needs a Hug (Star Trek), Spock is a child of two worlds, Spock is depressed, Spock's perspective, Tarsus IV mention, Vulcan Bond, Vulcan meld, but he doesn't know what depression is really, cause Sarek is a little bitch, h/c, kirk/spock - Freeform, this is a good amount of hurt with a good amount of comfort, tw: depression and anxiety, t’hy’la
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-17
Updated: 2020-11-17
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:29:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27601427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sherlyjohn/pseuds/Sherlyjohn
Summary: "It wasn’t logical. It wasn’t something that Spock could comprehend. His body felt like lead. His limbs were heavy. His eyes could barely stay open to the dimmed lights of his room. No matter how deeply he burrowed himself under the Starfleet-issued covers, he couldn’t shake the coldness dripping into his chest. The black nothingness of space was attempting to infiltrate his ribcage and no amount of logic could make it vanish."Set sometime during season 2 of TOS.
Relationships: James T. Kirk/Spock
Comments: 5
Kudos: 126





	Golden

**Author's Note:**

> "I am home and I had almost forgotten its beauty." -Spock from "Yesteryear" (TAS)

It wasn’t logical. It wasn’t something that Spock could comprehend. His body felt like lead. His limbs were heavy. His eyes could barely stay open to the dimmed lights of his room. No matter how deeply he burrowed himself under the Starfleet-issued covers, he couldn’t shake the coldness dripping into his chest. The black nothingness of space was attempting to infiltrate his ribcage and no amount of logic could make it vanish.

He lay in the dark, listening to Jim’s breaths beside him, counting them, studying the rise and fall of his _t’hy’la's_ chest, in search of anything to distract himself from the ion storm raging inside his head.

_You will never be accepted if you act like a human._ His father’s voice floated to the surface and made Spock shudder, a deep cold quaking down his spine. _You must control your emotions, it is unbecoming of my son to act this way_.

Spock curled his long fingers into the sheets and stared out at the stars flickering past. He was a disgrace. He could not keep his emotions in check like his father wanted of him.

_It’s okay to feel, Spock. You should express your emotions more_ his mother would contradict, running tender fingers over a bruised lip, green blood staining her finger. He felt the flicker of _grief/fear/sadness/hurt/worry/concern_ from his mother and flinched away from it. Emotions were not to be tolerated. His mother didn’t understand what was at stake for him.

There was no logical reason to be lying in the dark dwelling on events of the past. It was futile and illogical, that time could otherwise be spent on productive means for the efficiency of the ship. But why couldn’t he get out of bed? Why did his chest ache and the back of his throat sear with an acute burn? He bit hard on his lip to stop a hateful whine from escaping, lest he wake Jim and become scrutinised for his shameful behaviour.

Spock closed his eyes and attempted to master his breathing– feeling the phantom arm of his mother, stroking his back and humming an Earth lullaby from her childhood. He could capture it in his minds eye and _hated_ that he drew pleasure and comfort from the memory. He was _not_ a child. He shouldn’t need soothing in this way, with no reasonable explanation.

Through the lids of his eyes the darkness began to ebb from the room. Alpha shift would be starting soon, and Spock would have to get up, and meet the demands of the day. But why did that idea make his breath hitch and his hands tremble? There must be a medical explanation for the tightness in his chest. Perhaps he had picked up some kind of parasite on Theda VI…

“Muh-Morning” Jim yawned, stretching languidly, beside Spock, who opened his eyes and thought of a way to greet Jim that wound’t arouse suspicion in his partner.

“Good morning.” Spock deliberately hid the quiver in his voice and kept his gaze fixed on the ceiling. For some inconceivable reason, Spock couldn’t meet Jim’s gaze.

Jim laid a hand on Spock’s chest, stroking softly and leaning in to plant a kiss on his cheek. Spock caught a flash of golden hair and a rush of warmth spread into this chest when Jim’s lips met skin. The golden ball of light in the pit of his stomach evaporated the moment Jim ceased contact and a horrible black tar rushed into his chest, impeding the full expansion of his lungs. Spock puffed out a breath between barley open lips and attempted to vanish the phantoms in his ribcage.

“Spock?” Jim inquired, and Spock partially wished Jim to be less perceptive. He thought he had kept his face neutral, but it didn’t help that since their bonding, Jim had been able to glean base thoughts and emotions from Spock. He likely had little idea of the catastrophe in his head at present, but he may have felt what Spock wasn’t able to block from him. When Spock didn’t reply, Jim reached out his hand and tilted Spock’s chin so he could get a proper look at his mate.

Spock allowed the touch, if only to stop Jim worrying and said, “I am quite alright, Jim.”

Jim raised an eyebrow at him, something he had picked up from Spock. “I didn’t even ask yet. What’s wrong?”

Never one to ‘beat around the bush’ as Doctor McCoy often says, Spock suppressed an all-to-human sigh and replied, “nothing of import. I shall join you in preparation for the day in a moment.” He looked right into Jim’s eyes, imploring him silently to take him at his word. Jim stared into those eyes for a moment before nodding, looking doubtful, but thankfully, he did not argue further. Spock didn’t think he could hold an argument for very long his current state. What ever it was that ailed him was effecting his ability to think properly.

Jim ran a few fingers through Spock’s hair, making his trimmed cut straight and for some reason this made Spock want to cry. He swallowed thickly and maintained a neutral expression as Jim hummed, “I’ll be back in a few minutes, just gonna jump in the shower” before he left a cold space beside him on the bed.

Spock remained where he was, resisting every urge to curl into a tight ball and fling the sheets over his head.

_It helps me sometimes…_ Michael was saying to him, her sad smile visible even by the muted light of the large comforter that she had pulled off her bed and over the two of them, _to block everything out, it makes everything easier for a few minutes._ Spock had called her illogical, but didn’t leave their blanket fort until Sarek found the mess of blankets and told them off for their human behaviour. (In which Michael had said they were a human and a half so it made since that they were acting accordingly.)

Spock pulled his thoughts away from that day on Vulcan. The deep ache in his chest seemed to expand when he thought of Michael. He squeezed his eyes shut and willed the tears back. They were distasteful and not acceptable. He would not let his emotions master him; no matter what was wrong with him this morning. Spock took a few breaths and tried not to think of the day Michael spat those hateful words at him, the day Stonn and St’lak cornered him after lessons and kicked his ribs until they rattled painfully with each breath, the day Sybok was taken away–screaming and laughing, tears of mirth in his eyes, the day-

“Spock?”

Spock’s eyes glided open and he sat up as much as his leaden limbs would allow. Jim was staring at him from the doorway, golden shirt on, still in his boxers, and a toothbrush dangling from his mouth. Spock thought he looked beautiful.

“Yes?” He asked, voice carefully neutral.

“You look…” Jim appeared to search for the right words, and Spock’s gut clenched, “you look like you’re hurting. Should I call Bones?”

Spock shook his head. “That will not be necessary, Captain.”

Jim levelled him with a look, “What did we talk about, you calling me Captain when we’re alone together?”

“I believe your exact phraseology was, ‘only if we’re feeling kinky in bed.’” Spock replied, an eyebrow tilting upward.

Jim chuckled, set the toothbrush on a nearby table, (which Spock would have pointed out as unhygienic if he had the energy to do so) and walked over to sit beside Spock on the bed.

“Spock. You’re avoiding the question. What’s wrong? And-“ He lifted a hand to stop Spock from interrupting, “I don’t want any of that ‘I am functioning at normal perimeters Captain’ bullshit. Cause clearly something’s going on.” Jim eyed Spock’s half-propped form on the bed and Spock could tell his bond mate was noting that he had not even made a real effort to sit up in bed, much less get ready for Alpha shift.

“Jim…” Spock began, his voice cracking down the middle, his eyes fixed on his hand clenching the bedsheets, “I cannot adequately explain it.” He finally settled on. This was true. What was going on was defying all logic and understanding of his hybrid anatomy. This was something mental, something manifesting physical symptoms due to an emotional response… simplycontemplatingwhat Sarek would think to hear of his condition caused another shiver to pass through him. He lost the strength to keep himself propped on his elbows andlet out a huff. Jim slid back in beside him, his bare feet tucking under Spock’s calf and causing an entirely different tremor in him.

Spock was certain if he could look at him, Jim’s brow would have that crinkled look, the way it was when he was trying to figure out a solution to a complicated problem.

“Can you try to explain it to me?” Jim finally asked, his hand coming to rest on Spock’s left side, right over his heart. Spock twitched but did not move away. The warmth of Jim’s hand, even through a layer of fabric felt like the Vulcan sun; a home he had forgotten.

Spock finally met Jim’s gaze and saw the aforementioned crinkled brow and a look of loving concern that Spock clearly did not deserve. He swallowed and nodded, because Jim _did_ deserved an explanation for his irrational and abhorrent behaviour.

“I do not know what is ailing me, Jim. But I cannot seem to extricate myself from bed.” Spock stated simply, looking away, out into the star-strewn sky once more.

His Captain hummed and replied, “Is it… a physical inability or… a mental one?” Jim asked carefully, clearly trying not to offend Spock by asking about his mental state.

“The latter.” Spock replied in a mere whisper, feeling a horrible lump form in his throat. He cleared it and sunk lower into the sheets, pulling them further up his frame, as though to illogically protect himself. Intense embarrassment threatened to overtake him– that his humanity was rearing its grotesque head and he could do nothing but lie here uselessly.

“Spock…” Jim said with a slight gasp, which made Spock turn his head to face his partner. Jim’s eyes were glittering with empathy and he stroked Spock’s side, where he surely felt the minute trembles running along the Vulcan’s frame. “You have _nothing_ to be embarrassed or ashamed of.” Jim replied in his loving tone he adopted when he really meant it and Spock’s gazed deeper into Jim’s face; realising (in mild horror) that he had projected his emotions through their bond.

“Jim.” He croaked, “It is not proper. I apologise for my lapse in control.”

“Spock, don’t. Please don’t be sorry for this. You are allowed to have bad days.” Jim replied, now laying down beside him and stroking his face, ghosting over Spock’s psi points and making the Vulcan quake. Jim was the only one who could make Spock tremble like a newborn sehlat. His reactions to Jim’s tender touches surfaced from his very core, not even Surak himself couldn’t stop it.

“Can I hold you for a moment?” Jim asked in that endlessly loving voice that made Spock tremble even harder– because Spock did not _deserve_ that love, that tenderness. Not when he had failed so many and been unable to do what Vulcan 3-year-olds could achieve. Jim must have sensed his hesitancy because he said, “Spock, be honest with me, do you think being held will quiet that big and beautiful brain of yours? Even if by just by a little?”

Spock, who could no more lie to Jim then burst into song, inclined his head, his eyes closed in shame as he felt his face heat a deep green.

Jim scooted closer, nudging Spock to lay on his side, wrapping his arms around him and pulling his body flush against the Vulcan. Jim’s hands splayed across Spock’s back and began to rub patternless circles across the plans of his back.

“Jim- we must be on the bridge in-“ Spock began, trying to collect himself enough to push back, but his voice sounded weak, even to himself, and Jim cut him off.

“Spock, Alpha shift doesn’t start for another 20 minutes. And you’re more important than being right on time anyway.”

Spock didn’t believe that for a second. Jim’s priority was to the Enterprise and his Captain duties. Spock should never come before that.

“And I know what you’re thinking, and you _are_ important Spock. The most important thing to me. Scotty is perfectly capable of taking the conn.”

Spock released a breath, which came out in a slight whine. Spock clamped his lips together but Jim merely whispered, “Now, I’ve got you. You can let go. I will never judge you or think less of you.”

Spock was trembling harder than before, the carefully constructed barrier between emotions and logic was eroding, the black tar of this toxicity was working like acid to dissolve his walls.

“Spock, please, it’s okay.” Jim whispered, and Spock heard fear in Jim’s voice, and felt a flicker of it through their bond, no matter if Jim was trying to keep it from him. And that scared Spock more than his own defective mind. He was making Jim feel fear- he was causing Jim emotional pain, and that would _not_ do.

“Jim.” He breathed against his partner’s collarbone, “I apologise. I am hurting you.”

Jim hummed out a noise of descent and stroked his fingers through Spock’s hair, “You are not hurting me, baby. I just don’t know how to help you. I feel bad that I can’t do more for you.”

This concept brought more questions than answers for Spock. What did Jim mean? He was doing more than he ought to for Spock, more than was decent, to care for a fully-grown Vulcan. Spock was acting like a wailing human child and yet his _t’hy’la_ was still here, trying to help him. Jim had to know this so Spock dug for his voice once more from the deep well in which it was falling and said, “It is not your fault and not yours to fix, Jim. It is my lack of Vulcan training and ability that is causing this… lapse.”

Jim, to Spock’s surprise, practically growled at that. “I don’t like hearing you talk about yourself like that.” He said, “this is a chemical in your brain Spock. It’s just science. Is is not some failing on your part. I get depressive spells like this, you know that I do. And do you leave me on my own to go to your shift? No. You sit and hold me and meld with me so I can be reminded of some great moments in our past together. You deserve the same.”

Spock deeply wanted to contradict him, because Vulcan’s do not _experience_ depression. But he was half-human. His genetic failing was causing this. The shame coursed through him like nausea and Jim must have sensed it for he kissed the top of Spock’s head, and whispered into his ebony locks, “one sec.”

He lifted his body enough to hit the comm unit by Spock’s bed and say, “Kirk to Scotty”

“Scott here, Captain.” Came the Scottish drawl.

“You have the conn. Spock and I are taking a sick day.”

Spock’s head shot up, his eyes widening a fraction.

“Aye Captain. You two alright?”

“Yes, Mr. Scott, we just caught a bit of a bug. Nothing some sleep won’t cure. Saying as we’re still en-route to the Rigel system, there should be no urgent need for me, but if there is, hail me and I’ll come up.” Jim replied.

“You’ve got it cap’n. Scott out.”

Once Jim ended the transmission, he turned to Spock, who was still gazing at him as though he’d just been split in the transporter again. “Jim. You cannot abandon your post for me. That is highly illogical.”

Jim grinned and wrapped his arms and legs around Spock, “When have I ever been known to be logical when it comes to you?”

Spock raised an eyebrow at this, “That is a fair assessment. But I insist you leave me and go to the Bridge. Or I shall-“ But his voice diminished to nothing in his throat. He was going to suggest he attempt to get up and join his Captain on the Bridge, but the very thought of making his heavy limbs to cooperate was too great a task to comprehend. He buried his face into Jim’s collarbone and attempted to quell the frustration, shame, guilt, and pain that wriggled around his head like Klingon Gagh.

“Hey, hey, baby. It’s okay. Deep breaths.” Jim murmured, his hands resuming their stroking of Spock’s hair. It was deeply soothing in a way that made his head spin. He wished he could enjoy touch without the bruising guilt that accompanied it. His breath was huffing in an attempt to control his emotions and maintain his stoicism. He was failing. Jim could tell, for he kissed Spock’s forehead and said, “If you let go, you won’t be alone. You don’t have to fight this by yourself, Spock. That’s what bond mates are here for. Would you open up your mind to me? I can share your burden.”

Their _t’hy’la_ bond was often open and flowing between the two of them. Spock only put barriers when he felt an inappropriate amount of emotion. Jim had told him he was annoyed by this. _I want your emotions, Spock. All of them. You don’t have to hide them from me._ But Spock could not do as Jim asked, for it was improper, even for a _t’hy’la_ bond. However, he compromised. When they were on duty, or he was otherwise trying to mediate between emotions and work, Spock erected a soft barrier, more like a silk curtain that a breeze could still pass through. Doctor McCoy may call it ‘Vulcan voodoo’ but it went both ways. Jim had control to put up barriers of his own if needed. Spock recalled a moment a year previous when their roles had been reversed. He remembered the feeling of Jim in his arms, gasping, as the Captain tried to reconcile the pain of seeing Kodos again. Jim’s mind was determined to shove Tarsus IV into a quiet recess of his memories, but the whole incident had brought fresh trauma to the surface. Spock had told Jim then that his burdens would be lighter on Spock’s back. Jim had replied, _what if they’re too heavy for you?_

“And what did you say back to me?” Jim’s present voice brought Spock from his musings and he realized he must have been projecting his thoughts again.

Spock replied with his face buried in the golden material of Jim’s uniform, “I said ‘none of your burdens are too heavy because I love you.’”

He felt Jim smile into his hair and Jim’s golden glow made Spock’s fingertips tingle. “That’s the first time you said you loved me.” Jim mused.

“It may have been an inappropriate time to do so.” Spock considered.

Jim laughed in golden notes, “Nah, it was perfect. Because it was real. And it was you. Spock-“ Jim got Spock to look up at him, “Spock, he who is my husband, parted from me and never parted. Please, let me show you how much I love you and let me take care of you.”

Spock’s tremors made the sheets flutter as though caught in a soft breeze and his voice was the softest draft as he replied, “Jim. He who is my husband. Parted from me and never parted. If you are sure, I shall open my mind to you.”

“I am sure Spock.” Jim replied, stroking his lover’s cheek.

Spock closed his eyes, took a breath, and opened his mind– picturing floodgates decimating Jim’s mind. But instead, Jim saw, felt, and was apart of Spock’s cracked and oozing mind. He wrapped his arms tighter around Spock, allowing his golden glow to brighten Spock’s dark corners.

Jim’s then began to project his own thoughts and memories to Spock. Through Jim’s sunny glow, he showed Spock. He showed him their trip to Jim’s hometown in Riverside, where they went on evening walks and watched the bats flutter low in the evening cotton candy sky.

He was standing with Jim atop a grassy cliffside, overlooking the living shores of Theda II, which rented the air with a pleasant, singing hum.

Jim was bragging about Spock’s talents to a reluctant-looking Sarek.

Spock eyes were sparkling as he moved his black queen to the top level and called checkmate.

Jim was grinning at Spock over their dinner plates in Rec Room 2, asking the Vulcan, _is this a date? Cause hell, I really want it to be a date._

Jim was showing him just how much he loved Spock. And though the ion storm still crackled, and the black tar still oozed down his ribs–

the golden glow remained.

**Author's Note:**

> Go listen to a Star Trek philosophy podcast my sister and I created called The Duras Sisters Podcast. (Available wherever you get your podcasts)
> 
> *T’hy’la is the Vulcan term for someone who you have a strong bond- often a lover or a friend. (It's a lover in this case cause duh.)  
> *Gagh is a Klingon dish made of live worms
> 
> Kudos (not Kodos) are appreciated!! 
> 
> Live Long and Prosper, Trek fam.


End file.
